Giantess Stories: Crushed

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Crushed!

--------

by Andrew Nellis

a.k.a. the Poison Pen

copyright 1997

Something wasn't right. Ship's Counsellor Deanna Troi of the Starship Enterprise

frowned at the vidscreen and the columns of numbers it was currently displaying.

The data suggested that the subject's stress levels had dropped back down to the

optimal range. A certain amount of self-correction was normal, but this was well

beyond what she had expected. In fact, had she not noticed it herself, the

Computer would have brought it to her attention.

The subject was Doctor Beverly Crusher, the Ship's Surgeon, and under most

circumstances Deanna would have celebrated the return to normalcy. In this case

her professional instincts set red alert klaxons whooping in her head.

It hadn't been long since Doctor Crusher's ill-fated relationship with the alien

symbiote. The body the symbiote, an ambassador, had been inhabiting had

collapsed and died. The new body the ambassador had been implanted into had been

all too female, leaving Beverly in an emotional and sexual quagmire.

As a friend, Deanna would have felt herself compelled to come to Beverly's

assistance, but it was more than that. Part of the job of a Ship's Counsellor

was maintaining the sexual equalibrium of its crew. A healthy sexuality was

crucial to most entities' performance. In some cases it could even be a matter

of life and death. A Vulcan unexpectedly entering the pon farr was a threat to

everyone around. A Deltan deprived of sexual contact would eventually sicken and

die; chastity was a life-threatening illness for them.

Deanna provided not only psychological counselling as Ship's Counsellor, but

sexual as well. Often a sexual dysfunction could be treated through the use of

the holodeck, but not always. It was sometimes necessary for the Counsellor to

take an active hand in things, reading her patient's emotions while leading them

personally through a sexual encounter.

In theory, the solution to Beverly's problem was simple enough. Deanna would

need only to make Beverly comfortable with the idea of lesbian sexuality. It had

been centuries since any sort of stigma had attached to same-gender human

relationships. Deanna would lead Beverly through as many sessions of lesbian sex

as were necessary to allow the Doctor to pursue a relationship with the

ambassador.

In practice, however, it had been a disaster. There had been only one session,

and Beverly had nearly balked. When Deanna had finally convinced her and the two

women were naked in each other's arms, Deanna had felt the waves of revulsion as

a physical blow. Beverly, ashamed of her emotional reaction, had become stiff

and unresponsive. The love-making that followed was mechanical and joyless.

The sessions had stopped after that, and relations between the two women became

strained. Even Captain Picard had remarked on it, to Deanna's embarassment. Had

it been a personal problem only, Deanna might have gone to Ryker for advice, but

professional confidentiality demanded her silence.

And now, when Deanna had least expected it, there had been an abrupt thaw in

relations. Beverly was all smiles, and Deanna's Betazoid empathy assured her

that it wasn't an act. Somehow Beverly had found her own solution to her

troubles. That worried the Counsellor. When emotional matrices shifted that

rapidly, it suggested some sort of major personality disorder.

"Computer," said Deanna at last, leaning back in her chair. "Chart and correlate

all scheduled activities of subject: Crusher, Beverly with drops in stress

levels greater than magnitude three. Output to speakers."

"Working," said the Computer. There was a brief pause. "Probability ninety-two

percent of correlation between scheduled use of holodeck and drop in stress

level. Probability seven percent of --"

"Thank you," said Deanna, cutting the Computer off. The holodeck, she mused.

This would not be the first time she had encountered a crew member using the

holodeck in a way that caused mental unbalance, but there were safety interlocks

to prevent gross abuse. Furthermore, any attempt at grossly aberrent misuse

would be automatically logged and reported to Deanna as Ship's Counsellor.

A sudden suspicion occured to Deanna. "No, she wouldn't," she said aloud. It

would be... unprofessional. But the suspicion remained, and Deanna knew there

was only one way she was going to put her mind to rest. Rising from her chair,

she left her quarters in the direction of the holodeck.

The holodeck was empty when Deanna arrived, a small blessing because it meant

she wouldn't have to explain what she was doing. Standing outside the closed

entry doors, Deanna used the touch-panel on the wall to call up a list of

Beverly Crusher's holodeck scenarios. Most were scenic: picnic grounds, a

lakeshore, a mountaintop. A few were historical simulations on various planets.

The rest were various types of simulated medical operations and experiments.

There was nothing even faintly improper.

"Computer," said Deanna, "display full scenario data."

"Access denied," came the crisp reply from the Computer.

Deanna frowned deeply. "By what authority?"

"Medical priviledge. By authority of Ship's Surgeon Beverly Crusher."

So she did do it. Deanna took a deep breath. The Ship's Surgeon had the power to

countermand even a direct order from the Captain if it was a matter of medical

emergency. Her authority in such matters could not be questioned -- except under

one specific condition. But to use such authority to hide a holodeck program was

improper, bordering on outright abuse. Careers had been destroyed for less.

"Computer, this is Ship's Counsellor Deanna Troi," said Deanna. "Verify,

please."

"Ship's Counsellor Deanna Troi, voiceprint match. Identity verified."

"Psychiatric override," said Deanna. She did not want to do this, but she had no

choice. A psychiatric override could be used only when the Ship's Counsellor

felt that a crew member was mentally unstable and an immediate risk to the

entire ship. Such an override would be logged automatically, and could be erased

only by the Captain. She would have to do some fast talking to explain it. But

it gave her absolute authority over everyone, including the Ship's Surgeon.

"Override confirmed," said the computer.

"List all scenarios classified: medical," said Deanna.

"Scenario alpha-seven-Crusher. List ends."

Only one. That had to be it. "Computer, load scenario alpha-seven- Crusher and

activate."

There was a very brief pause. "Scenario loaded and activated."

The doors to the holodeck slid open, and Deanna steeled herself for whetever she

might find, then took a step inside. The doors closed behind her.

It seemed to be some kind of alien landscape. Around her were even, unnatural

rows of cubic, stone-like structures. Most rose no higher than her ankles,

though some reached as far as mid-shin. The sky was blue and earth-like

overhead, but the horizon line was oddly distorted in a way that suggested a

smaller sized planet than Earth or Betazed.

Deanna took a step, trying to avoid touching the cubic structures, and felt grit

crunching underfoot. Despite her best efforts, she brushed against one of the

structures and it toppled over, shattering into millions of pieces and a cloud

of dust. It seemed to fall almost in slow motion.

Deanna frowned. This was not what she had been expecting at all, and wondered

what exactly it was. "Computer, where am I?"

"Terra, city of Tokyo, circa 1975 Old Reckoning."

That couldn't be right. Deanna didn't know much about Terran history from that

period, but she knew it didn't look like this.

Very faint sounds were now reaching Deanna's ears. Like the roar of the sea, or

a large crowd, but with the volume lowered to almost nothing. Still frowning,

she crouched down to look closer at the strange structures. She noticed that the

whole ground seemed to be crawling, a mass of insectile motion. An involuntary

shudder shook her, but she suppressed her disgust, knowing it was merely a

simulation. At least they didn't seem particularly dangerous.

Why would Beverly design such a bizarre scenario, Deanna wondered. And more

importantly, why would she want to hide it so desperately that she would risk

her whole Starfleet career?

Her question was answered suddenly as Deanna bent down for a closer look at the

creatures beneath her. At first they appeared to be mere specks, but Deanna

forced her eyes to focus and she realized that some of the larger specks were

mechanical in nature, tiny wheeled constructs. And then it hit her. She realized

what the smaller specks were. They were people.

The shock of her discovery caused Deanna to overbalance, and she put out a hand

to steady herself. For a brief instant she felt hundreds of miniscule people

against the flesh of her palm, and then there was a small crunch as her weight

came down. When Deana lifted her hand, her palm was covered in a faint smear of

red, as was the ground where her hand had pressed.

Revulsion rose in Deanna's throat like bile. All around her now she could hear

the sounds of panic and terror, millions of tiny voices crying out their fear.

She stood and felt more things crunch under her foot. An involuntary step

backward knocked over two of the structures, which she now knew to be office

towers. And with every motion the carnage around her increased.

"Stop!" shouted Deanna, her hands over her ears. "Stop! End simulation!"

Everything vanished instantly, leaving only the blank walls and floor of the

holodeck. Deanna took a minute to sit on the floor and recover her composure. It

had all been too realistic. Even now she could still feel the wet heat of bloody

gore on her hand.

This was what Beverly had been doing, this was the reason her stress levels had

dropped. Deanna forced herself to think rationally. Okay, it was violent and

macabre, but she was well aware that such fantasies were not uncommon. Terms

floated through her head: macrophilia, God complex, podophilia. Even, and here

her mind balked again, vorarephilia. If Beverly had come to her with this, they

might have discussed it. It need not even be unhealthy. But to undermine

regulations in order to hide such a fantasy revealed a festering obsession.

Deanna knew she had to do something.

Climbing to her feet, Deanna brushed the concrete dust from her legs and left

the holodeck for her quarters. Had she looked over her shoulder before the doors

closed behind her, Deanna might have seen Q standing in the holodeck, smirking.

* * *

Deanna stood outside the doors of the holodeck. It had been a difficult

couple of days. First the interrogation from Captain Picard over her use of the

psychiatric override, then the constant internal tension she felt every time she

saw Beverly. Deanna was only thankful that the Captain trusted her judgement and

had not pressed her too hard. And he had agreed to erase the log entry, which

took a great pressure from her mind. He would give her until the current mission

to Tau-Alecto IV was completed to deal with whatever the problem was before he

took an active hand in it.

It was only a few minutes before Beverly Crusher arrived. She was dressed in a

two-piece bathing suit and looked surprised to see Deanna waiting for her. She

slowed to a halt and blinked a couple of times. Deanna could feel wariness in

Beverly.

"Deanna," said Beverly with a smile Deanna knew was false. "What are you doing

here? If I knew you were coming I'd had reserved us a place at Chez Pierre's in

Paris."

Deanna felt rising tension in the Doctor. "Beverly, I don't want you to be

alarmed. There were some... abnormalities in your emotional profile so I did

some checking. I think you know what I found."

"Oh God." Beverly's legs seemed to waver, and she put out a hand to steady

herself. A wave of shame rushed out from her, crashing into Deanna's mental

shields with a violent shock.

Deanna reached out to touch the reeling Ship's Surgeon. "Get away from me,"

hissed Beverly. Her shame and humiliation was being rapidly consumed in the

swelling conflagration of her anger. "You. Had. No. Right!"

"I'm sorry, Beverly, I really am," said Deanna. "It's my duty, you know that

better than anyone. Come on, let's go in and talk about this."

The holodeck doors hissed open and the two women entered, Deanna first and

Beverly following. Deanna could feel the mounting rage in the woman behind her,

the suppressed violence. She knew for certain, now, that Beverly needed help

desperately.

"Computer," said Deanna, "simulation gamma-alpha-Troi."

The blank walls of the holodeck vanished and suddenly both women were in a

replica of Sigmund Freud's office in Vienna, complete with a couch and the faint

scent of cigar smoke. Deanna seated herself in the wooden swivel chair in front

of the rolltop desk, and Beverly reluctantly sat on the edge of the sofa, her

face hidden by her long red hair as she leaned forward, hands clasped under her

chin.

"I'm so embarassed," said Beverly. "I-- I don't know what to say."

Deanna smiled reassuringly. "Beverly, you're not crazy. We all have our secret

desires. A strong, vibrant fantasy life is healthy. The problem occurs when we

try to hide it. The fantasies become darker, warped. They gain power over us.

When did this all start?"

"I didn't even know I wanted something like... that," said Beverly, still unable

to meet Deanna's eyes. "It was an accident. I wrote a scenario to tour ancient,

twentieth-century Tokyo and I guess I made a mistake somewhere. Everything was

so little. And I was so big. I almost erased it, but I thought it might be fun

to... play with it a little bit. I liked it. A lot. I knew I had to hide what I

was doing. I wasn't thinking straight."

Deanna nodded. "I understand. Beverly, I have a suggestion. Why don't we go Free Games for Mac, Free Games for ipad and Free Games for Iphone, without in app purchases or something like that Free Browser Games

through the scenario together. It will help me to understand this."

Beverly looked up, mortified. "Oh, I couldn't! It's so personal."

"For the time being I want you to think of me as your counsellor, not as your

friend," said Deanna. She could order Beverly to do it as part of a psychiatric

treatment, but Deanna didn't think their friendship would survive that. "You can

stop the scenario at any time you like. Okay?"

Beverly looked away, then nodded, slowly.

"Good," said Deanna, smiling encouragingly. She stood. "Are you ready?"

The doctor nodded again and stood.

"Here we go," said Deanna. Her stomach was in knots as she thought about the

carnage to come, but she forced her revulsion down and dropped a professional

mask over her features. "Computer, load scenario alpha-seven-Crusher. Activate."

Freud's office vanished and was immediately replaced by the ankle-high

rectangular structures of the miniature city.

The first thing Deanna noticed was a wave of powerful sexual excitement from

Beverly. Though she was trying not to show it, Beverly was intensely aroused at

the mere sight of the city and its tiny denizens. But more than that, Deanna

caught a sudden blast of absolute blinding fear from all around her that nearly

threw her from her feet.

"Uh! Beverly, something's wrong," said Deanna, staggering forward and planting

her uniform boot into the middle of a busy intersection. The sudden monstrous

spike of agony and mindless, gibbering terror that bloomed in Deanna's head like

a blood-red flower made her clutch her head in pain. She threw back her head and

screamed.

"Deanna! Deanna, what's wrong?" said Beverly. "Crusher to sick bay!"

Somewhere nearby, Q scowled and made an impatient gesture with his hand.

Suddenly the pain stopped. Deanna had dropped to her knees in a smouldering heap

of crushed apartment blocks. "No, I'm fine now, really." She rubbed her forehead

lightly, a confused expression on her face. "I don't know what was wrong. It

might have been a psychic feedback loop. I expected the sensation and it fed

back on itself. Yes, that must be it."

"Sick bay," came the voice from nowhere. "Dr. Crusher, is there a problem?"

Beverly looked over at Deanna. The Counsellor was a little green, but seemed

otherwise okay. And she managed a faint smile. "No, false alarm," said Beverly,

relieved. "Crusher out."

It felt to Deanna as if her head was full of fog. The usual emotional background

noise of the crew was muted to almost nothing. The only thing she could sense

strongly was Beverly's concern and, beneath that, a thread of sexual excitement

that had never entirely vanished. The mysterious explosion of fear and pain she

had sensed was gone, if it had ever really been there.

Deanna took Beverly's proferred hand and pulled herself upright, trying to

ignore the crunching noises beneath her boots. An area a dozen city blocks wide

had been devastated when she fell, and smoke spiralled up from the wreckage.

"Wow," said Beverly, looking at the damage. "That's fantastic."

The thread of sexual excitement from Beverly had grown into a thick stream.

Deanna looked at the wreckage and felt only faint nausea.

"Watch this," said Beverly with an evil grin. She bent over and hunted around,

crushing buildings indiscriminately beneath her bare feet as she walked. When

she found what she was looking for, she called Deanna over. The Counsellor

picked her way through the buildings, uncomfortably aware of the cacophony of

crunching noises under her boots.

What Beverly was pointing at was a large public square of some kind, and it was

thronged with people. Deanna forced herself to watch as Beverly slowly lowered

her bare foot until it hovered a scant inch over the crowd. Then, with a wicked

grin, she pressed down. The pavement cracked under the weight of Beverly's foot,

and a grotesque red pulp oozed out from her instep.

"Yessss," said Beverly, closing her eyes as she dragged her foot across the

square, leaving a long trail of gore. "Mmmm," she said, reaching between her

legs and rubbing herself through the material of her swimsuit.

The level of sheer animal lust coming off Beverly was astounding. In fact,

Deanna found herself unwillingly aroused by it, so powerful was the sensation.

She had rarely felt such intensity outside of a Vulcan experiencing the pon farr.

"Tell me what you're feeling, Beverly," she said.

"Power," said Beverly in a throaty voice. "Look at them all. Tiny little people,

all terrified. Of us. Of me. Hundreds of thousands and millions of them, and I

don't have to treat a single one of them. I don't have to worry about their

health or their safety, and they don't have to do anything... except squash."

The last she said with a leer as she crushed a mob of fleeing people with the

ball of her foot.

Beverly dropped to her hands and knees, demolishing dozens of square blocks of

buildings. "I want them on me," said Beverly, "I want them in me. I want to feel

their little bodies as they explode. I want to to feel their hot, steaming,

crushed remains all over me. Mmmmm."

Deanna could only stand and watch, stunned, as Beverly lowered herself to the

ground and stretched, cat-like, on the fleeing crowds. Using her hands as

massive scoops, Beverly lifted hundreds of tiny people to her body and crushed

them against her flesh, leaving damp red patches. Her legs, her thighs, her

breasts, her face; all were dyed crimson with the blood of thousands.

When her whole body was slick with sweat and blood, Beverly pulled off her

gore-crusted bathing suit. Seconds later, hundreds of screaming people were

mashed against her nipples and rubbed vigorously into her mons and its swollen

lips. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, and her eyes did not seem to focus.

Deanna was transfixed. Like a butterfly on a board, Beverly's manic lust held

her pinned in place. The roar of Beverly's arousal filled her head, swelled and

dampened her labia, forced her nipples into arousal that was almost painful.

"Beverly?" she said in a whisper.

Beverly looked up at the voice, but there was little in her eyes except need and

sadism. "Deanna," she growled, dropping a screaming handful of gnat-sized

victims into her mouth and chewing with much evident pleasure. Her lips were

dyed a deep, deep red.

Without even knowing what she was doing, Deanna stared into Beverly's eyes,

feeling her own reflected lust, and began stripping. When her lush body was

bare, her clothes discarded in a pile atop several blocks of office towers, she

lowered herself to her knees.

The two women stared at each other with unabashed desire. Their lips came

together, their breasts pressed against the other's, and Deanna felt Beverly's

tongue creep into her mouth. Beverly's tongue tasted of salt and blood and raw

meat. Vaguely, Deanna felt Beverly's hands crushing handfuls of something hot

and wet into her large, soft breasts. Deanna's expert fingers sought the places

that she knew brought pleasure, and Beverly groaned into Deanna's mouth.

In an explosion of flying concrete both women fell to the ground in a hot

embrace. Tiny, helpless things died by the thousands under their naked bodies.

Their kiss broke apart, and Deanna's tongue began a systematic exploration of

Beverly's skin. The breasts, the large, turgid nipples, the flat belly, the

red-furred lips that gaped wetly between Beverly's legs. Deanna's tongue

burrowed inside, seeking out the swollen clitoris with practiced skill. Tiny

bodies, some still squirming, adhered to Deanna's tongue and were swallowed

along with Beverly's freely-flowing juices.

"Yes," moaned Beverly, her face contorted with ecstasy. Her questing hands tore

whole towers from their roots and crushed them against her breasts, spilling

rubble and bodies down her sweat-glistened skin. Deanna's tongue was driving her

to peaks she hadn't known since Jack had died. "Yes, yes, yes, YES!"

Deanna felt Beverly's orgasm as her own, one of the benefits of Betazoid

empathy. It was a long, apocalyptic explosion of vibrating nerve endings drawn

taut like the strings of a violin, and the force of it was enough to cause both

women to scream counterpoint in a duet of lust.

The lovers laid side-by-side in the huge smashed-down area they had demolished

with their love-making, stroking each other, and placing little kisses on each

other's bodies. Absently, Deanna realized that she had succeeded in breaking

Beverly's aversion to same-gender sex and felt quietly proud.

After a while, Beverly climbed to her feet and, with an impish grin, began

systematically stomping across the city. Deanna sat up on one cocked elbow and

watched, bemused. A few of the tiny little people seemed to have survived

everything so far, and Deanna crushed some idly with her thumb. She could see

how something like that could be enjoyable, even stimulating. "Take that you

little buggers," she muttered under her breath as she squashed a few more with

the tip of her index finger. Out of curiosity she gathered a few together,

pinched between her thumb and forefinger and dropped them into her mouth. She

chewed them and found they tasted pretty much like salt. She wondered how the

holodeck would know how something like that should taste, or even if it did

know. Perhaps this was merely its best guess.

When most of the city was in ruins, Beverly came back and dropped to the ground

beside Deanna. "Well," said Beverly with a sly smile, "now you know why I like

this."

Deanna nodded. She noted that Beverly's feet were covered in gore to the ankles,

and playfully licked one of her toes clean. "I might even ask you for a copy of

the scenario for myself. For therapeutic purposes," she added quickly.

Beverly laughed. Her mood had brightened considerably. "Deanna, let me tell you,

you have one hell of a tongue."

"Ryker never complained," said Deanna, winking.

The women gathered up their blood-spattered clothes and dressed. "I'm on bridge

duty next watch," said Deanna. "See you there?"

Beverly nodded. "End simulation," she said. The massive smoking destruction

vanished and she was standing in the blank walls of the holodeck. Both women

left for their quarters and the lights automatically dimmed. No one heard Q's

mocking laughter.

* * *

"We are being hailed from the planet's surface, Captain," said

Lieutenant-Commander Data.

"Onscreen," said Picard.

The doors to the turbo-lift opened and Beverly Crusher stepped out. She

exchanged a look with Counsellor Troi and went to stand beside her. The red

alert had come just as the women had arrived at their quarters, and both had

quickly changed before making their way to the bridge.

"I am having some difficulty," said Data. "The signal is very weak and there is

a great deal of interference."

"Captain," said Lieutenant Worf, stony-faced. "Sensors indicate the capital city

has sustained considerable damage."

Picard looked over at his Number One, Commander Ryker. Both men were grim.

Neither had expected this kind of excitement waiting for them at Tau-Alecto IV.

The distress signal had come just as the Enterprise was entering the system,

bringing the ship to full alert.

"Bonjour mon Capitain," said Q, winking into existance wearing the uniform of a

Starfleet admiral.

"Q!" roared Picard, leaping to his feet. "What do you have to do with all of

this?"

Q smirked in the way he knew infuriated Picard. "Hello, Counsellor," he said

mockingly to Deanna, ignoring the outraged Captain. Q's eyes narrowed and he

grinned evilly. "Feeling a little muddle-headed? Here, maybe I can help."

Deanna opened her mouth to protest, but Q snapped his fingers and suddenly her

mind was buried under an avalanche of pain and terror, an invasion so strong and

so sudden she felt as if she might lose her sanity. Deanna gasped and clutched

at her temples with her fingers. The fog that had clouded her empathic sense had

lifted.

"What have you done!" thundered Picard, his face crimson with fury.

"Ta-ta, mon Capitain," said Q. "Oh, by the way, Doctor... Crusher, you seem to

have some dirt on the bottom of your boot." He winked at Beverly, and

disappeared in a flash of light.

"I have the signal," said Data.

A face, bloodied and wild with fear appeared on the main viewer. The clothes and

badges of office identified the man as a member of the planet's ruling council.

"Enterprise! Enterprise do you hear me? Come in, Enterprise."

Picard pulled ineffectually at his uniform shirt and sat down in his chair,

still simmering. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise. We

are receiving you. Please explain your situation."

"Horrible," sobbed the man. "Horrible! Millions dead. There were two, it was

horrible!" His voice was nearly incoherent with fear.

"Two what? What was horrible?" said Picard, leaning forward in frustration.

"Mister Data, are there any readings indicating some sort of attack?"

"Negative, Captain," said Data, his fingers flying over the console faster than

human eyes could follow.

The man on the viewer noticed Beverly for the first time, and for a second his

eyes seemed to bug out of his head. He gave a single, piercing scream and the

viewer went dead. Deanna moaned softly, cradling her head in her hands.

"They have stopped transmitting," said Data.

"Data," said Ryker, "can you give us a visual on that city?"

"Affirmative, sir."

An aerial view of the ravaged city appeared on the main viewer.

Beverly's blood turned ice cold. Because she recognized that city. And because

there, in the city's main square, picked out in great, gory swaths of deep

crimson, was a single great footprint more than fifty yards long. Her footprint.

And somewhere in the depths of space, Q laughed and laughed and laughed.

Giantess Stories: Crushed

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